Solace
by artwolf1995
Summary: "When the time came for pomegranates and divisions, they were ready. They had found solace in each other." REPOST: Account was hacked and this story was deleted. See a/n on the inside for details.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: "So this came as after a bout of plot bunnies overflowing. I wanted to keep the timeline vague, sort of like a fairy tale. Anyways, I hope you enjoy my rendition of this ancient fairy tale."

P.S. This story was originally posted in the summer of 2013. It was up until about February 2014 when my account was hacked and "Solace" was deleted and replaced by another one. That story was called "It Grows". It was written before this one and was never finished. I disliked the characterization of Hades and Persephone that I had written in "It Grows" and decided to leave it unpublished. The hacker apparently liked "It Grows" more than "Solace", which was promptly deleted. I have recently gotten control of my account back, though my entire profile has been deleted, along with my other stories on this account. Luckily I keep things saved in multiple places!

Hopefully this won't happen again.

Much love,

Artwolf

* * *

Chapter 1

The end is not important, nor is the beginning. The journey is what matters.

It is a lie to say that the Lord of Riches despised his realm. He did not; in fact, he quite liked it. Or he learned to, rather. It took many years, but Hades learned to see the beauty of his kingdom.

It was a subtle beauty; not as bright or colorful as Zeus' skies and earth, and not as passion-filled and tumultuous as Poseidon's oceans and rivers. Yet it was still beautiful, in its own way. Fields of asphodel stretched on forever under a shining sun, and the souls that resided there knew rest, if not joy. And Elysium, from what Hades could see, was a greater paradise than Olympus. He often walked alongside its borders, longing to enter its domain; longing to sit underneath its great trees and feel its cool breeze on his face as he walked past its waterfalls, watching souls deemed more worthy than his own live as they never had on Earth – carefree and joyful, and forever at peace. Yes, Hades longed to finally enter Elysium and see his entire domain, but he was deemed "unworthy".

He was incomplete, in Elysium's own words, and as such, not allowed to enter – though he was more than welcomed into Tartarus. He took careful consideration to avoid the place altogether. And, for the most part, he ran his kingdom with a steady, sure hand. He was harsh, he knew, but not unjust. There was good and there was evil, and Hades felt that there was little in-between. If a man killed another to steal his coin purse, and did it in order to feed his poor family, he was still sent to Tartarus. Intentions did not matter to Hades; only actions, so Hades judged men on what they _did_, and not what they _intended_ to do.

All the same, judging made him weary, for examining a soul was not easy work; nor was sending a good man to Tartarus. It was times like these that he felt the incompleteness, deep within his chest. Looking out at the great, empty expanse that was his throne room, he sighed deeply. When he inhaled, he felt the bones in his chest move to accommodate the expansion of his lungs; heard them pop and crack as they moved. Not for the first time, he felt very, very old; ancient even beyond his years. He also felt very, very lonely. He exhaled again, noting how his breath came out like a cloud of mist. He was making his palace cold again; he needed to get out, he decided. _Fresh air may do me some good_. He tucked a lock of ash-white hair behind what left of his ear and grimaced. Almost against his will, his fingers traced the burned flesh that reached from his left ear to underneath his eye. _A memento of the Titanomachy_, he thought bitterly.

He snapped his fingers, making his helm of darkness appear in his hands as he placed it on his head. He preferred to conceal himself in the land of the living; he did not need to give humans more reason to hate him than they already had, and his appearance would only serve to add to their disdain. And, though he did not need their worship, he also did not need more of their hatred. He was completely invisible as he made his way through the underworld and up towards the world above. He had no particular destination in mind, and so he wandered aimlessly. _Somewhere warm. Somewhere where the sun is gentle and the flowers blow softly in the breeze._ A place like Elysium, he knew, though he would never admit it to himself.

As such, when he caught her bathing that day, he hadn't meant to. He hadn't been searching for an innocent maiden to spy upon; hadn't been searching for a cheap and easy conquest. He had simply been wandering; looking for a place to relax, and perhaps alleviate the persistent ache in his chest.

Yet that is what happened: he had caught an innocent maiden bathing, and the sight before him made him stand still in his tracks. His eyes roved over her of their own volition, seeing all of her and yet none of her at the same time. A slender waist, with large breasts and a well-formed behind, curved and soft. Her skin was olive in tone and had a healthy tan from being a creature that lived in sunlight. He imagined the stark contrast his pale fingers intertwined with hers would make. Then he saw her hair: red like fire, and at once he saw himself facing Hyperion; remembering the light and the flames that burned his face and turned his once-black hair white. Yet, when he saw her hair, how it curled and fell in gentle waves, he wanted nothing more than to bury his face in it.

He wanted nothing more than to be burned by it.

He wanted nothing more than to be burned by _her_.

She continued to bathe, completely oblivious to his presence, and he was glad. He stepped closer, snapping a branch as he placed his weight on it, and the illusion was broken. The girl turned towards the sound – towards him – and he saw fear in her green eyes. He suddenly felt very ill, seeing her distress. He had been watching her like an animal, and worse – he had responded like one, too. Even now in his disgust, he could feel the pressure in his loins, and the instinctual urge to touch himself there; to relieve the incredible pressure her display had put on him.

He left without another sound, traveling through the ether back to his domain and the comfort of his bedchamber. In the confines of his room, he poured ice-cold water over himself, and bit his lip to keep from hissing in pain at the sensation. He would not fuck his own hand over the girl like some animal; he was better than that. There was right and there was wrong, and doing _that _would most definitely be _wrong_.

Yet, try as he might, he could not control his dreams, and that night he dreamed of her. He saw her, straddled over his hips with a coy smile on her full, pink lips. She opened her mouth as if to speak, but instead a soft sigh escaped her mouth. He wanted to kiss her; to taste her and feel her underneath his mouth, but this was a dream, and the dream kept him rooted in place with his back against his pillows. She began to grind herself on him, moving her hips in slow, intoxicating, agonizing circles, and then, as if another dream had started, her clothes were gone and so were his and he was deep inside her. She moved on him and against him, repeating his name in a mantra, over and over again, yet he had no name to shout for her. She looked him in the eye as her climax reached her, and he woke up with a start.

He groaned as he found his abdomen and groin sticky with his own release. _Never go to the mortal world again. _With a snap of his fingers, he made himself clean, though he could not fall back to sleep. With his lust for the meantime sated when his thoughts drifted back to her, he found himself wondering who she was, rather than thinking of her body alone. _What is her name?_ he wondered. Who are her parents? And more importantly, what are her likes and dislikes? Her ambitions? Does she always bathe in rivers? Is she a nymph? He immediately shook his head at the thought. Nymphs are slender, lithe things, and this girl – this _woman_, Hades corrected himself – is much more than that.

In the days that passed, he thought of her, and of what she may be like, while in the nights he dreamed of her most indecently. It became such a nuisance, this old betrayal of his body – because he was, at one point, genuinely young, and thought himself now past the carnal lustfulness of youth – that he began to bring himself pleasure with his own hand every night before retiring, though he did not think of her. In fact, he thought of nothing; he kept his mind focused solely on bringing his release, and he kept his fist appallingly tight as he pumped and jerked himself to climax. He did not do it for pleasure, but rather necessity and irritation with himself. Yet for all the disgust it brought him, his hands at least kept his dreams away, and soon he was able to get through the day without spending all its hours thinking of her, and generally being completely useless running his own kingdom.

Soon months came to pass, and then even years, and Hades found himself only occasionally thinking of the maiden with fiery hair. (Hair he wanted to burn in.)There were times, though, that he wanted to see her, and one time that he broke his vow to himself and actually did. _Hypocrite. _He walked slowly and deliberately to his seeing glass and eyed his gaunt reflection with a grimace.

"Show her to me," he whispered. _One last time_, he told himself. _This and no more_.

The image in the black glass shifted, and he saw her, holding a younger girl who appeared to be injured. They were in a forest, though that was nothing new. Then he heard her voice, and he felt his heart beat hard and fast to the new sound.

"You're safe, Chloe," he heard her say. "I'll get us back to Mother and she can help you."

"But, my lady. . . the satyr."

_Satyr? _Hades' brow furrowed as he watched the two. His heart beat accelerated.

"Don't worry about the satyr, Chloe. I'll protect you." The girl didn't seem convinced by her own words, and neither was Hades. Then he saw them: satyrs. And a whole group, no less. He froze.

One stepped out, gray-bearded and somewhat bald. Its horns were long and thick, and its muscles curled underneath its thin, aged skin.

"Aren't you a brave little nymph?" it asked, grinning and flashing yellow, rotting teeth.

"Let's show her and her friend how brave they are, Nicodemus." That was a younger one; a son or a brother, based on their resemblance to each other. Its blond hair flew softly in the forest's cool wind.

"I agree with Nikolas. Let's."

More poured out from the trees, and in total Hades counted about fifty. _They're never going to make it. _Yet Hades felt rooted to his spot, completely and utterly. _Do something, you damned idiot, Hades!_

"Stay back," the girl said, a frightened tremor in her voice. "I'm warning you!" The satyrs laughed at her, and Hades clenched his fists.

"I'll take the red-haired one first," the eldest said. "I like her spirit."

The girl crouched, placing the palm of her hand against the wet soil of the forest, and Hades was surprised when he saw tree branches wrap around several of the satyrs. _A goddess?_ he thought. _Or a demigoddess? _

Despite the girl's best efforts, she was overwhelmed. There were simply too many of them, and only one of her, and she was fading terribly fast. It was only when she was knocked down, though, that his body permitted him to move. _I have to save her. _He pulled on his helm and called for his horses through the ether. _Be safe._


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Persephone – for that was her name; not "Kore," or "sweetling," or "child," or any of the other ridiculous names her mother chose to bestow upon her – cursed her friend's stupidity. They had been told to "absolutely, positively stay out of Pan's Hollow," and yet Chloe did it anyway. And somehow managed to convince her to come along as well. _Damn my curiosity. _

Now she was surrounded by what she estimated to be around forty satyrs, all aroused and hungry for the both of them, with an injured Chloe to care for. From what she could tell, she managed to grab about ten of them with tree roots, though she knew that was not enough, and she felt her strength beginning to wane. She spotted a younger satyr – the one called Nikolas – and he grinned as he approached her. His teeth were yellow and rotted, and Persephone was sure she saw worms writhing between their spaces. Bile began to rise in her throat, but she kept it at bay. _Keep calm._

"I am a daughter of the mighty goddess Demeter!" she shouted, though she cursed the tremor in her voice. "If you harm me –" Her words were cut short by a blunt hit to the back of the head, and she fell forward, her knees buckling with the weight of herself and her friend. Her head swam and colors blurred together, and she was only dimly aware that her hands were being tied together. When they pulled her up by her hair, she didn't scream – she didn't want to panic – and when they threw her against the tree and tied her there, she focused on her breathing and kept herself calm. But, when she saw Chloe, with her clothes being ripped and her body being fondled, she screamed. Loud. Damn staying calm; now was the time to panic.

"Help! Somebody help us, please!" she wailed. "Please! Somebody, anybody!" She felt something break in her face when the satyr hit her.

"Keep quiet, girl," he spat. "We don't want you screaming just yet." He hit her again, and this time Persephone tasted blood. She heard the screams from her friend as they beat her and did other things she couldn't bear to witness. She felt wetness pour down her cheeks, and she knew she was crying. And then it was her turn, and they threw her to the ground.

"Say, Nicodemus, she's crying. I don't think I like her crying. Let's fix that." Persephone's head was still spinning, and the world around her kept mixing its colors, but she knew there was knife in her face. Right in front of her eyes, as a matter of fact. Panic gripped her, and she thrashed and screamed.

"No! Please, no!" But it was too late; they had cut her, and her right eye could no longer see, and then her left as well, and she never thought that she could feel such pain. Yet, she continued to thrash, even as her gown was ripped from her; even as they beat her, and she felt her ribs break. Beneath her, the ground rumbled and moaned, and there was a jarring CRACK as the earth shook. And then suddenly, the beatings stopped, and she was gripped with an incredible cold.

She heard hushed whispers and the neighing of horses, and acrid smoke wafted to her nose, causing her to choke. Then came a clanging sound, and she thought that perhaps one of the satyrs was removing a piece of armor – a helm or a cuirass – and she shuddered.

"What are you doing to this girl?" She did not recognize that voice. She thought it soft and gentle, and so unlike the satyrs that were about to ravage her. She tilted her head to hear him better.

"Forgive us, my lord, but what concern is it of yours? The girls came into our domain; they are ours to do with as we wish." She was sure that was the old one called Nicodemus.

"Did you not hear that she is the daughter of a goddess?" She heard the satyrs begin to mutter amongst themselves.

"All the same, good lord, they came into our domain. Pan gives them to us by right."

"Then I will take them by right."

What happened next, Persephone could not say for sure. She heard screams – rough screams, from the satyrs – and she felt the ground rumble underneath her, and thought that she had been stuck in that place for an age. When the sounds stopped, it took her a moment to realize that the earth was no longer shaking; rather, it was herself. She felt cool fingers touch her face and she kicked out, hearing a grunt of surprise. Yet again she felt the fingers on her face.

"I will not harm you," the voice said. He was very close; she could feel his cool breath on her face. "Do you trust me?"

_No of course not_, she wanted to say. _I don't even know who you are._ Yet she didn't say it, instead grabbing a tight hold on him as he lifted her up. She was completely naked, she knew. She didn't care. Her modesty was not worth her life. He grunted again when she held tightly onto his neck. She wished she could see him, but she knew the wetness on her cheeks was no longer only tears.

"My friend," she croaked against his ear. "Please."

And then she fell into complete darkness.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

He watched her heal as the days passed, doing his best to keep her company in the few waking hours that she regained consciousness. When he could, he would read to her, and he often found her smiling when he spoke. It made him feel warm in a way he never thought he could.

"I like the sound of your voice," she told him.

"And I yours."

"But, my lord, do you always sound so sad?" That caught him off guard. Did he? He sighed. He supposed he did. Though lately, with her presence, he was beginning to feel happier.

Then she asked the question he had been dreading. "When can I go home?" _I don't want you to leave._

"When you are healed, I will take you back to your mother." _Please stay._

"Where is my friend?"

" . . . Gone." _I couldn't save her. I'm sorry. _

He didn't hold her as she cried, though he desperately wanted to comfort her. _I'll keep you safe._

Then one day she grabbed his wrist and for a panicked moment, he thought that she could see him.

"Don't go," she whispered. "Please."

He gently pulled his hand away from her grasp. "My dear, I must." He wanted to slap himself as he said the words.

"Will I ever see my mother again?"

"Of course," he answered her, though his heart constricted at the double-meaning of "see." He looked at her, scarred and broken, and he felt like a monster for leaving. _I want you to stay. _

"Will you at least tell me your name?"

He froze. _Should I tell her? Would that frighten her?_ He did not want her to fear him, and he was well aware of reputation amongst his siblings. Yet lying was the coward's way, and he would not lie to her.

"I am Hades," he breathed, and he immediately left when he heard her gasp of fear. _Idiot_, he cursed himself. _Of course she's afraid of you_.

But, as time passed, he was surprised to learn that she was not. In fact, as she began to regain her strength and he offered his hand as support for her walks around the underworld, she took his arm instead. Her legs were shaky, but still she walked, and she held tightly onto him.

"So we are in the underworld?"

"Yes."

"I wish I could see it." He felt his heart pound at her words.

"You will, sweet one. Hecate tells me you are healing well." He touched her arm with his other hand for reassurance. She turned towards him, and her bandaged eyes filled him with an immense sense of guilt.

"I wish I could see you." _No you don't. _

He smiled sadly at her, though he knew she could not see it. "Do not wish such a thing. The world has much more beautiful things to see."

She whispered something then, though he did not catch it. He decided not to press her.

(She said, "Not to me.")


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

After what seemed like an age, Persephone was able to take her bandages off; was able to see. And what she saw was not the dark, cavernous underworld described by her friends or her mother, but rather a light-filled, relaxing place for the souls to call home. She saw it all, from the endless fields of asphodel, to the green, luscious hills of Elysium, and even the burning gate of Tartarus. She saw everything; everything, that is, except for Hades himself. She could hear his voice and feel his gentle touch on her hand, and yet she could not see him.

"Why do you keep yourself hidden from me?" she asked. They were walking along the border to Elysium. He sighed that immense sigh of his, and she felt his sadness.

"I do not wish to frighten you with my appearance."

She giggled. "Does my king think himself ugly?"

"Irrevocably so."

She found his arm and languidly traced her hand up the smooth skin and rippling muscle. She heard his breath catch and she smiled. He was so unlike what her mother told her.

"Would you let me kiss you, then?"

His breathing stopped. "Kiss?"

She placed her hands on his chest, felt his heart beating rapidly there. She looked up to where she thought his eyes were.

"Yes a kiss, my lord. A reward for your good deed." She heard a rustling sound, and she was sure he was shaking his head.

"I require no reward, my lady."

"It is not that you require it, Lord Hades. I wish to give it." She reached her hands up his shoulders and his neck and felt the helm covering his face. Her fingers traced the line of his jaw underneath his helm, and she heard his breath coming in quick gasps. _So nervous_. She smiled up at him. She did not want him to feel nervous. She touched his lips, feeling that they were full and soft.

"Persephone . . ."

She stepped on her tip-toes and lifted her head towards him, felt his lips brush against hers. She felt his hands reach around her and grab hold of her waist. He was shaking. She touched his face underneath the helm, feeling his rough, stubbled cheeks as she deepened the kiss. She heard him gasp, noticed his hands on her waist grip her tighter. His tongue touched hers, and he tasted sweet. With a deft movement of her hand, the helm fell from his head, and he was revealed to her. He startled and tried to move away from her, but she held him still. He screwed his eyes shut tight, so as not to see the disgust on her face. Or at least what he assumed would be disgust on her face.

But she was not disgusted. She quite liked his face, in fact. True, he was not handsome like Apollo or Hermes or even Ares – his face had been marred, _burned_, and much of his left ear was missing – but his jaw strong and his nose was straight. She liked the way his short beard cut his features, enjoying the way its mixture of black and ash-white hair framed his mouth and accentuated his eyes, which she caught the color of before he managed to shut them. Blue, clear as ice and just as pure. No, he was not as handsome as other gods, but in her eyes she he was more beautiful than them all. She took a lock of his wavy, white hair in her hand, twirled it around her finger.

"Would my lord please open his eyes?" He shook his head.

"Forgive me, my lady, but I do not wish to see your disgust at my appearance."

"I do not find your appearance disgusting." He laughed, though the sound held no humor.

"Please, my lady, I dislike being teased."

She shook her head and smiled despite her sadness for him. _He truly thinks he is hideous_. She kissed his eyelids and ran her thumb along his cheek. She frowned. _Perhaps to others he is._

"I am not teasing you." She kissed him again, and she felt his fingers digging into her back. "Would my lord please open his eyes?" she repeated. He slowly opened them, and she saw fear there. She kissed the tip of his nose.

"I find your appearance to be quite desirable." His eyes grew wide in surprise, and his brows arched up. She thought he looked rather silly and she kissed him again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

She watched him judge and became sad as he grew wearier and wearier with each soul. "Tartarus," followed by, "Asphodel," followed by, "Elysium," and the cycle would repeat itself over and over and over again. When he was done, she would crawl into his lap.

"Must you always be so harsh, my lord? That man –"

"I judge mortals by their actions and not their intentions." His voice carried an uncharacteristic edge. She put her hand on his chest, feeling his heartbeat.

"All I am saying, my lord, is to take both intentions and actions into consideration while judging culpability."

He narrowed his eyes at her, though she could tell it was in curiosity and not anger. He scratched his chin. Perhaps a man who killed to save his family deserved a chance to redeem himself, rather than eternal damnation in Tartarus. He nodded.

"I will consider your request, my lady." She kissed his cheek, and where her lips touched his face, he burned.

"Good. Now will you dance with me?" He smiled. He was always so beautiful to her when he smiled.

"I will do anything my lady wishes."

That night in the throne room they danced, and Persephone had never felt safer.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"Do you wish to return to the world above?"

She insisted on laying her head on his lap, and his thigh was beginning to turn numb. Still, she was warm and her hair was soft in his hand. She turned to face his stomach, and the shift in her position brought her head closer to his groin. He bit his lip at the growing pressure he was beginning to feel there.

"Sometimes," she replied, rubbing his lower stomach with her hand. She felt his muscles twitch and jump at her contact and she grinned. _So sensitive. _"I miss my mother, mostly. And my friends. I don't miss the satyrs." He chuckled at her words, though he stopped when he noticed her head was flush against his groin. Each time he moved, he felt her there. _This is not good._ She looked up at him and reached her hand towards his face. His jaw clenched painfully tight as she touched him.

"Why do you ask me, my lord?" His lips curled into a small smile and he traced the contours of face.

"I wish to know you." Immediately, he knew he had made a mistake, and his pale cheeks colored red. She gave him a wry grin.

"You wish to know me, my lord? Or you wish to _know_ me?" His mouth dropped slightly open. He was not sure of what to say. Truthfully, he wanted to know her in both ways: who she was, this quiet girl – _woman_ – who looked past his features, who did not show him fear; and he wanted to be with her. So he answered with the truth, because she deserved it.

"Both," he said, and he looked into her eyes as he said it. When she didn't respond, he shut his eyes again. _Why did you say that? Idiot. _ He felt her hand on his cheek; her soft thumb rubbing over his lips.

"Don't shut your eyes, my lord." He struggled with opening them, but he did so. For her. Her hand curved around the nape of his neck.

"Why do you treat me so?" he asked. She seemed confused.

"Treat you so, my lord?"

"With kindness."

"Because you treat me with kindness."

He seemed utterly unconvinced. Her hands threaded through his thick, white waves of hair.

"You are . . . a good man, my lord." She placed her hand on his chest, pushing him down into the soft grass. Persephone straddled her legs over his hips and he looked up at her in wonder. She gave give him a soft kiss and laid her head on his solid chest; shut her eyes as the sun over them set.

"Persephone . . ." he whispered, holding her to him.

"Hmmm?"

"I think I love you." He buried his face in her hair. He was burning it, finally. He would burn in it forever, if he could. She nuzzled against his chest.

"I know I love you."

They were married the next day.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

She held his hand as they walked into his – to their – bedchamber.

"Lie back," she told him. He obliged, nodding vigorously and nervously. She straddled him, guiding him into her warmth. There was pain as he filled her – she wasn't nearly wet enough, but she was eager – he did not push her. She waited, learning the feel of his body within her, waiting and waiting, even as he apologized with a shaking, strained breath. She smiled. She loved this man. She would make love to him. She was determined to show him.

Soon, all either one of them could hear was each other's breathing and the sound of skin hitting skin. His hands were wrapped tightly around the sheets, white-knuckled in his grip. She saw his abdominal muscles flex and jerk with each movement from her, and she knew for sure then that she was his first just as much as he was hers.

She saw him looking up at her with dark, lustful eyes, and with a roll of her hips and his name on her lips, she saw his love there, too. Her savior: her kind and quiet king, now her husband and lover. She reached for his hands and brought them up towards her waist, where he held tightly. But that would not satisfy her; she wanted him to feel her, just as she was feeling him. She brought his hands up to her breasts, and he groaned as she moved on him.

Hades was enveloped in her heat, completely lost in her embrace. It was too much for him, and yet not enough. He wanted to have more of her; to utterly consume her and be consumed by her. Burned in her fire – fire that filled him with life, and not the fear of death, like Hyperion's white flames. He wanted to burn in her fire forever; feel her soft and supple body against his hard edges.

He flipped them, gaining purchase on her hips as she bent down to kiss him. He flipped them, and she was under him, and he pressed his thumb against her, out of complete accident, and she writhed against him. He did it again, this time with more care, and he felt her clench around him, soft and wet and his. His wife; his flower. He loved her, would burn for her. He kissed her neck, breathed her name as he reached his peak, just as she breathed his. Hades had finally reached Elysium.

When the time came for pomegranates and divisions, they were ready. They had found solace in each other.


End file.
